The argument has gone on for days between the two.
The fact that they're both stubborn turns the usual happy air and camaraderie between the two in to a thick tension.
"Doc, I know I could do it, why don't you believe in me?"
"Why don't you use your head?"
"I am using my head!" Lightning steps to the side to block Doc's path as the older man attempts to step around him and away from the conversation entirely. "You're just not listening to me. There's still a few months until the next season starts, I'll be completely better by then! I think I'll be ready to race when the season starts!"
"No. You won't. That alone," Doc motions to the sling holding Lightning's right arm against his chest, "Prevents you from even signing your name on anything."
"Yeah, right now! But I'll be out if it soon! And my knee brace! I might even be off my pain meds, too!"
"You won't. I know that for a fact. You aren't even considering the fact that you'll have to rebuild the muscle and get used to using your weak limbs again."
"I've just been thinking a lot about this, Doc-"
"That's a first. Maybe you should think a little harder."
"Doc."
He's only met with the unamused, no-nonsense, look Doc wears so well, a look he's worn almost constantly the last few days. It makes Lightning feel like a frustrated child, and in return, he can only fix Doc with his own glare. It's far less menacing than Doc's signature look, especially since he can't cross his arms comfortably due to the sling. The best he can do is use his height to his advantage, looking down at Doc, who only glares back up at him with the same furiousness.
"You haven't been behind the wheel of a car since your crash. Even if you did somehow manage to get your way in to a car anytime soon, you're all out of practice. There wouldn't be enough time for you to get back up to where you were before your wreck in time. You're not ready. You may think you are, but you're not. As of now, I don't believe in your ability to race. Do you even know if you're mentally prepared to drive?"
"I swear, I'm ready, you just don't want to see it. You're trying to hold me back for no reason!"
"I'm holding you back because it's what's best for you," Doc pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut tight. His oncoming headache was only gonna get worse the longer this argument went on. "Just listen to me, kiddo. It'll make things a lot easier for you in the long run."
"All I've done is listen to you! For years. It's part of our jobs!"
"Then listen to me one more time!"
"I can't. Not when you're wrong. You don't want what's best for me, if you did, then you wouldn't be trying to hold me back!"
"I'm trying to help you, kid!"
"I don't want your help! I don't need it!" They're back to glaring at each other again, face to face. The tension feels so much thicker.
"You need someone's help, since you obviously can't be trusted to make decisions by yourself!"
Lightning wants to scream back at him just how wrong he is, channel all the rage he feels in to words, tell Doc that he's a lot better off than the old man thinks he is, but all that comes out is a cold, half whisper.
"I hate you."
If Lightning hadn't known Doc so well, he would have never seen the slight change of expression on Doc's face—a brief second of something he'd never seen before, then the quick return of the glare.
"Then get out."
There's no malice in Doc's voice. He doesn't yell or angrily gesture toward the door, either.
"I was planning on it." Lightning says, hoping the waver in his voice is only part of his imagination. He's out the door, fast as he can move with a limp, and only half-heartedly slams it.
"He hates me, Smokey."
"Naw. He's just angry, Hud."
Doc sighs and drags his hand down his face. He's leaning back in the armchair of his living room, phone in hand. "He told me so. Slammed the door as he walked out, too. Said I don't care about what's best for him. Stupid kid-"
"Bet you called him that, too."
"Well, not exactly, but...He was being stupid-"
"You know, that sounds just like you."
"I use my head."
Smokey snorts in to the phone, and Doc doesn't have the chance to defend himself before Smokey's full on laughing. "That's the fattest lie I've ever heard come out of your mouth. And it's not even anywhere near as creative as the things you used to come up with back in the day."
Doc glares at nothing, Smokey's not physically there to catch the receiving end of the look. He doesn't say anything, either, and Smokey just knows he's unamused.
"Stop brooding," says Smokey, "You can't really expect him to want to listen to you if you're calling him stupid while trying to tell him why he's wrong."
"I didn't outright call him stupid—"
"You might as well have. How about next time, instead of telling him to use his head, you figure out his motivation? Why is he so eager to prove himself? Maybe there's something deeper to it."
"I'll never find out. He hates me, Smokey."
"He doesn't hate you, stop saying that. That kid loves you. He looks at you with rose-tinted glasses, I'm surprised he doesn't kiss the ground you walk on. He's angry, racing's all he's known for years, he's got nothing big to occupy his time and he's getting anxious." Smokey sighs in to the phone, "You were like that, too, you know. After your crash, all you wanted was to get back out there."
"I know. I just don't want him to rush out there before he's ready and end up hurting himself or cutting his career short. He's got so much left in him, he can't risk losing it all because he's impatient. I'd hate to see that happen, don't know what I'd do if it did."
"Maybe you should try telling him that without implying that he's stupid."
"Smokey-"
"I'm serious. Next time, put a little more emotion in your reasoning and maybe he won't go throwing around such strong words."
"I don't know about that. Kid's so in touch with his emotions, it's overwhelming. A couple of weeks ago he was in tears over a video he saw of a dog or something like that. I wish I could say that it was his meds making him over emotional, but he's just like that." Doc lets the tention drop from his shoulders. He isn't angry, he never was, just unsure of how to deal with the situation. It had hurt, deep down inside, the words had gotten to him in a way that nothing Lightning's ever said had. He was used to over-affection, Lightning knew no boundaries when it came to personal space, and was a very touchy-feely guy. It was impossible to not be smothered by the kid, and sure, they had their moment when they butted heads, but it was never this extreme. It almost always ended with them realizing that they were both right, just in different ways.
"Keep me updated, then," Smokey says, not even bothering to hide his yawn, "If there's nothing else interesting that you gotta tell me, I'm goin' to bed."
"It's not even 7:30 yet."
"I'm old. I'm tired. Just let me know when the kid comes back to mend your broken heart and you're done brooding."
"I'm not brooding."
"You are. Goodnight."
Doc grumbles his own quiet goodnight before hanging up the phone and sighing, something he'd been doing all day, and looking up toward the ceiling. It's been a long week.
"Sally, I said I hated him!"
"I know, I know you didn't mean it, either," Sally says, standing in front of Lightning as he sits on her bed. She steps forward to bring him in to a hug, stroking his hair as she tries to quiet him down. He'd been crying for the better half of two hours, ugly sobs and all.
"I don't know why I told him that, I don't hate him, he's my favorite—"
"Lightning, calm down." She pulls away to wipe the tears of his face, but more stream down his face to replace them before she can clear them away completely. She refrains from commenting that he's such a child, only because the look he gives her is so pitiful. He looks more like a sad puppy than anything else, though, and she can only pull him back against her and kiss the top of his head as he clings to her, wiping his face on the front of her t-shirt. "You just need to apologize to him, later, after things have calmed down. Give him some time to cool off, and take some time to calm down, too, then tell him you're sorry."
"What if he doesn't believe me?!"
"Have you ever lied to him or given him a reason to not believe you or forgive you if you apologize?"
"N-no."
"Then don't worry about it," She stokes his hair again, smoothing back the blondish-brown curls away from his forehead, "You'll be okay, Lightning. He'll know you're being sincere."
"Thanks, Sal." He wiggles out of her grip, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. "I love you, so much."
"I love you too," she gives his forehead a soft kiss, "Just take a while to calm down, okay? I'm all here for moral support, but you have to fix that on your own, and you can't do it when you're crying all over the place."
It's a light tease, but it makes him crack a grin before he nods, laying back on the bed with a sigh. He'd been crying for a while, getting himself worked up over and over again over the situation (he was in touch with his emotions, there was nothing wrong with that!) and it had only made him tired. Maybe a short nap would help him recompose himself.
Lightning actually knocks on the door—an absolute first—anxiously bouncing on his toes as he waits for Doc to answer.
Doc knows it's him before he even gets to the front door. Lightning's the only one who'd bother coming around when Doc appeared to be in a mood, or at this time of day. He doesn't even ask the kid what he's here for, if the sad look on his face is anything for Doc to go by, he knows it's something along the lines of an apology. The kid just looks sorry.
"Can I help you?" Doc says, leaning on the doorframe with crossed arms. It's not in a threatening or angry way, simply unamused and possibly tired, not as a means of intimidation. Lightning says nothing at first, not really sure of what to say. Part of him didn't even expect Doc to answer the door, let alone give him the opportunity to explain himself. "Spit it out, kid—"
"I don't hate you." He thought he had cried himself out earlier, but his vision blurs when his eyes well up with tears again. "I could never—I don't—I'm so sorry."
"Kid—"
"Stop. Let me—I'm trying to say sorry," the crack in his voice is raw, full of more emotion than Doc has the energy to deal with, and the tears are flowing harder than before.
"Alright." Doc stands up straighter, arms still crossed. There's no readable emotion on his face, at least not that Lightning can see, but then again, he can't see much through the blur of his tears.
He's not gonna make the kid stand here on his doorstep, a whole sobbing mess, though. He steps back inside, motioning with one hand for Lightning to follow him, and Lightning does, still blubbering an apology through soft gasps.
"I'm sorry," he chants, though it's only half coherent "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't hate you." Even as he follows Doc through the small house and finds himself seated on the sofa. It's a good while before he calms down enough to speak coherently, or say anything other than 'I'm sorry' and 'I didn't mean it'. And it's still a few minutes after that before he's no longer crying.
"I know you didn't mean it," Doc says, he's sitting in his arm chair on the other side of the living room, knowing for sure that if he'd chosen to sit any closer to the kid, he'd most likely be smothered in an apology hug. "You tend to say a lot of..." he thinks of Smokey's reminder to not call the kid stupid, "untrue things when you're upset."
Lightning nods, using the back of his hand to wipe his face, yet again, and Doc continues.
"I'm sorry, too, kid. Maybe I should have told you more than just no, or, you're not ready. You deserve a real explanation and not just a vague telling that makes you feel like I doubt you. Kid, you're injured. I know, I know, you won't be that way forever, you'll get better. However, I don't wanna see you rushing in to anything before you're a hundred percent better. By rushing in to things, like physical training and mental training, you can damage yourself further. Let yourself heal completely, and then some. You need more time, kiddo. I don't want to hold you back, but it takes time to get over something that drastic. It's not a quick and easy recovery, and I don't wanna see you pushed outta this sport before you even have the chance to come back, all because you pushed yourself too far while thinking you were ready."
What he doesn't say still rings clear in his head. You can't race if your heart still pounds wildly in your chest every time you climb in to a car, even when you aren't the one driving. You can't race if you still flinch at the sound of a loud engine. You can't race if you're still scared.
Of course, that's not exactly how Doc put it, but it was implied that there were so many obstacles Lightning had yet to overcome, and just because he tried his best to ignore them, it didn't mean they were gone for good or didn't affect him anymore. He still had anxieties, from things like irrationally worrying that the breaks on Sally's car would suddenly stop working and they'd get in a wreck that he couldn't walk away from (he still vividly remembers trying to brake, trying to stop his car from hitting the wall again, but the car was already too badly damaged for that to have worked), to small things, like the way his heart sank to his toes when he saw the latest dent on the driver's side door of Mater's truck. He wasn't sure why that had made him so uneasy, maybe just knowing that his own friend was out there recklessly driving like he didn't have an entire life that could be affected if anything went horribly wrong.
"I get it now, really," Lightning says, and his voice doesn't crack or catch. "I'm still sorry. I don't hate you. I love you, a lot. You're a part of my family, just as much as Sally or the rest of the town, and as a family we're all supposed to look out for each other, not throw harsh words around. I shouldn't have reacted that way, I let my emotions get the best of me, it's not fair to do that to you."
They fall in to silence for a moment, the only sound being Lightning moving to toe his shoes off and pull his good knee to his chest, his leg that's in a brace awkwardly sticks out in front of him, but there's no tension between them anymore.
After a moment, Doc gets up, leaving momentarily to step in to the kitchen. He returns with a glass of cold water, handing it to Lightning and sitting beside him, now that he was sure it was safe and he wouldn't be smothered.
"I just don't want to be away for too long. I don't..." Lightning trails off, frowning. He sets the glass down on the wooden lamp table beside the wofa, after noticing his hand is still shaking—he doesn't trust himself not to spill it. When he turns to look at Doc, his blue eyes are filled with some kind of sad fear that Doc had never seen before. Now it's Doc's turn to feel uneasy. "I don't want to be away for too long, Doc. I don't want them to replace me, or think that the track is just fine without me. I don't want them to tell me that they're done with me because I've been gone too long."
"Kid, they're not—Rusty and Dusty are still your sponsors, they're still waiting for you to get better. They aren't gonna replace you, and I don't think they would ever entertain that idea. Not even if you suddenly became the worst racer in all of history. You haven't done anything wrong, either. Your wreck was an accident. There's no reason for anyone to think you don't have what it takes to be back out there, and if anyone did think that, you'd have a whole lot of people who'd prove them wrong."
"Doc, I... Thank you." Lightning looks at him, eyes watering again, "I love you so much, old man."
"Yeah, kid," Doc snakes his arm around Lightning's broad shoulders, in the closest form of a hug he can manage with the way they're sitting side-by-side and the way Lightning has his leg pulled up against him, but it's not long before Lightning's untangling himself and clinging to Doc as best he can with one arm in a sling. The older man's voice is a lot quieter as he puts his other arm around the emotional kid in front of him, giving him a proper hug, "Love you, too."
It doesn't last long, as much as Lightning would have absolutely loved for it to last longer, he doesn't want to cry all over Doc's shirt or accidentally crush him from clinging to him too hard [if that were even possible, in his current state].
"What a tough guy I am," Lightning jokes when he pulls back. He wipes at his face for what feels like the millionth time that evening, and he's pretty sure his entire face is red from repeating the action over and over again. "I can't even shut off the waterworks."
Doc can only give a half-shrug. While he's never been one to put all his emotions on display, he can't deny that the kid is also very brave, to walk around with his tender heart on his sleeve and cry like he didn't care who saw him. He can't decide if that takes guts of steel, or it's simply something that only someone with no guts would do.
When Lightning's hand finally stops shaking, he downs the entire glass of water. Crying has left him feeling beyond tired, all burned out and in need of a drink of water, and as much as he'd love to run and tell Sally that he'd fixed his dilemma with Doc, he doesn't actually want to get up.
"Can I crash here tonight?" He asks, setting the glass back on the lamp table beside the sofa.
"Sure. S'long as you're not being loud at all hours of the night. 'm heading to bed in a few, couch is all yours."
Lightning grins widely, red-rimmed eyes squinting, as he sprawls out across the sofa while Doc stands. "Thanks, you're the best, I love you!" He chants tiredly, when Doc leaves the room.
"Hang on a minute, kiddo." Doc returns a second later with a blanket and a few small pillows, lazily tossing the blanket over Lightning and kneeling beside the sofa to help him take the sling off and position his arm in a way that wouldn't have him walking up in an absolute nightmare of pain with said arm pinned underneath him. He was a heavy sleeper, and would probably sleep the whole night through with his arm pinned beneath him and not notice until he woke. "Now you can pass the hell out."
"You don't have to tell me twice." Lightning flashes him another grin, and Doc gives him a [very gentle] shove, rolling his eyes as he stands. "Goodnight, Doc."
"'Night, kid."
"Wait!"
Doc stops, looking over his shoulder at Lightning, who still wears the big, cheesy, grin. "I love you!"
"You're pushing it, kid. Big time."
Though, if he had to admit it, he'd much rather prefer the stupid grin and sound of Lightning chuckling to himself under his breath than the sound of him ugly-sobbing and brokenly repeating the same apology over and over again.